Returning to Myra, Nicholas went to visit his uncle. His aunt Berenice answered the door, and her eyes were red from crying. Nicholas could see something was wrong. He asked, “Where is uncle Nicholas?” She said, “They arrested him. They would not tell me anything.” Nicholas promised to look into it.
At the hall of the magistrates he found a new edict from the emperor: All leaders of the Christiani, both overseers and servers, were to be put in prison. The edict made no mention of what the final penalty would be.
Nicholas rounded the hall of the magistrates to get a glance at the city prison sitting behind it. The brick building was only big enough to hold a dozen prisoners at a time. Because Roman justice was swift, there was no reason to hold a prisoner for long before punishment—either a fine, a public flogging, banishment or death. Nicholas feared getting too close or he might be arrested with them. He could not tell anything from the outside, but a soldier was heading toward the hall of magistrates. Nicholas asked, “Is there room in the prison?”
The soldier laughed. “Any more prisoners and we’ll have to stack them like firewood. We had to let go of all the accused to make room for these traitors. I’m not sure what Caesar wants us to do with them. Rome’s not paying us to feed them.”
Nicholas said, “You could make the Christiani feed them.”
The soldier laughed. “A very good idea. Their families can do the job.” Then he added, “Were you coming to see your uncle? He’s one of the prisoners.”
Nicholas’ throat tightened. Myra was a large city, but not large enough. He said, “No. I doubt I will change his mind.”
Nicholas despised himself for that answer. Though he had spoken the truth, it was not the whole truth. He felt he had let his uncle down, and worse, Christus. He had not denied Christus, but neither had he acknowledged him. That night he mounted the rooftops and came to the house of his cousin Timoteus. He dropped a bag into his atrium. The next morning, Timoteus found it. The leather strip that bound the bag had written on it, “For the prisoners of Christus.” Inside was enough gold to pay for bread for 30 men for a month. Timoteus smiled and said to himself, “Maybe this benefactor is not so foolish after all.” He took the money and that day began to bring bread to his father and the other prisoners.
At the hall of the magistrates he found a new edict from the emperor: All leaders of the Christiani, both overseers and servers, were to be put in prison. The edict made no mention of what the final penalty would be.
Nicholas rounded the hall of the magistrates to get a glance at the city prison sitting behind it. The brick building was only big enough to hold a dozen prisoners at a time. Because Roman justice was swift, there was no reason to hold a prisoner for long before punishment—either a fine, a public flogging, banishment or death. Nicholas feared getting too close or he might be arrested with them. He could not tell anything from the outside, but a soldier was heading toward the hall of magistrates. Nicholas asked, “Is there room in the prison?”
The soldier laughed. “Any more prisoners and we’ll have to stack them like firewood. We had to let go of all the accused to make room for these traitors. I’m not sure what Caesar wants us to do with them. Rome’s not paying us to feed them.”
Nicholas said, “You could make the Christiani feed them.”
The soldier laughed. “A very good idea. Their families can do the job.” Then he added, “Were you coming to see your uncle? He’s one of the prisoners.”
Nicholas’ throat tightened. Myra was a large city, but not large enough. He said, “No. I doubt I will change his mind.”
Nicholas despised himself for that answer. Though he had spoken the truth, it was not the whole truth. He felt he had let his uncle down, and worse, Christus. He had not denied Christus, but neither had he acknowledged him. That night he mounted the rooftops and came to the house of his cousin Timoteus. He dropped a bag into his atrium. The next morning, Timoteus found it. The leather strip that bound the bag had written on it, “For the prisoners of Christus.” Inside was enough gold to pay for bread for 30 men for a month. Timoteus smiled and said to himself, “Maybe this benefactor is not so foolish after all.” He took the money and that day began to bring bread to his father and the other prisoners.
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